


Red

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: Collar him, leash him, but you'll never tame him.
Kudos: 9





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder FFVII and all associated content is the property of Square Enix.**

It’s _fury_ , bright and all-consuming, a sharp tang on his tongue and fire in the veins. **How dare they keep him contained!** And those eyes, they _fear_ , the slide of claw through flesh and scraping off bone as the host learns of them, of _him_ , scrabbles at his own skull to rip them out, _what are you what are you what **are you?** _ He prowls in the mind’s confines, flickers through that panicked stare and pulls the mouth wide around too many sharp teeth. **I am you.**

It’s a lifetime lost under the scalpel. A second, a third, payment to the scientist splitting them open and turning their insides out. Screams nothing but silent torment in the host’s throat, muffled in the blood as it chokes him. They all share the body, they all share the _pain_ , but he’s no stranger to it, might even call it _friend_. **Oh look, a couple more rounds of this and your mouth will match the stain of death on your hands, Turk.**

It’s the struggle between them, as endless and deathless as they. The host tightens his collar, shortens the leash and _oh_ , his rebellion knows no bounds. The companions know better than to linger when the host falters in his stride, when his form flickers, when he hisses and spits and claws at his own skin. They know to throw their materia aside when it starts sparking at _his_ call, as far and as fast as they can. Danger shadows the host’s every step, rattles in every breath. **I will be free, and you will _suffer._**

It’s the taste of freedom finally in reach, a rose blossoming on the host’s chest as he arches to the Tsviet’s whim, the talons she hooks in his ribs. Her lips so dark _(did she kiss her handiwork?),_ smile _wicked_ and _welcome_ \- but the Beast rushes forward instead. So he retreats for a time, watching, _waiting_ , taunting the host with a grin in the mirror - and laughs when their dual reflection shatters like diamond rain, tinkling down around the host’s feet. _No_ , the moan of horror. **Yes,** he purrs in reply, licking the blood from their knuckles. **Your body is _mine_ , host.**

It’s the threads cast aside from Vincent’s soul, the trail he leaves that only Chaos can follow once they’re apart, and it almost matches his mantle. _Hate_ in his eyes, those lovely haunted eyes, voice a snarl in its low gravel tones and malice. _“You.”_

**“Me,”** Chaos replies, and pulls the trigger.


End file.
